Гарри Гаррисон - The QE2 Is Missing

Not easy! Hank remembered the fresh blood and wondered at the man who could drag himself out of bed with legs in that shape.

“Every time she left the room for a few minutes. Cavalry, that’s me, old cavalry. Kept my knife, leather awl on it. Cut the bottom of the bag, put in books from the shelves up there, sewed it up again. Ravelled the blanket to make thread. She never guessed. Now the rest is up to you. Take the diamonds out.”

“I can’t!”

“You’re the only one. I’m military, wounded, I’ll be searched, watched. I can’t do it. But you’re a refugee when they take you off this island. Your bags will never be opened. Contact Uzi. He’ll know what to do. How he shares them is up to him. The diamonds are Nazi money, meaning stolen Jewish money. Let it go back to him. Tell him I did it. Tell him that our movement should get a share. Paraguay must be free.”

Hank looked at the innocent-appearing pillowcase. Millions of dollars. A lot of people had died for this. Now it was his. To keep if he wanted to. He smiled at the thought. The Sergeant knew that much about him. He would get the diamonds to Uzi. This was his own personal victory over the Tupamaros and what they represented.

“All right, Sergeant,” he said. “I’ll do as you ask. And tell Uzi just what you said. And thank you for trusting me.”

“There are no thanks needed. It is not only the Stroessners and Nazis of this world we must fight. It is the Tupamaros as well. Vaya Ud. con Dios.”

“And the same to you, Sergeant.”

Sergeant Pradera’s eyes narrowed as he looked over Hank’s shoulder and his face grew grim. “I planned a different diversion,” he said. “But this one is far better. Hand me something heavy, ahh, yes, those pieces of rock there. Then take the bag and stand to one side. Leave quickly so you will not be seen.”

Outside the shelter, the doctor stood up and opened the medical box that he had been sitting on.

“You said you wanted to see this one today, doctor,” the Bo’sun said. He was a big man with even bigger hands, and one of them was clamped hard around Klaus’s upper arm. The German’s head was lowered and he looked at the bandages around his aching, throbbing hands.

“Thank you, Bo’sun. Those hands will need treatment.”

“Aye, aye, sir. We don’t want the Nazi son of a bitch going septic or whatever before they take him back for trial for shooting up the ship.”

“Let’s not prejudge before the trial or whatever.”

“Of course, sir,” with no slightest trace of contrition in his voice.

Klaus screamed with shock as the rock caught him in the side of the face, spinning him about. The second one thudded against his ribs.

“Murderous swine!” the Sergeant shouted. “They did my knees and you held me. Come close so I can get my hands on your neck!”

No one saw Hank leave.

Frances had made her mind up and had decided exactly what she wanted to do long before she found out what was in the filthy pillowcase that Hank had leaned against their suitcase when he returned.

“You’re a bastard, and I love you,” she announced firmly, before he had a chance to speak. “You are going to keep on doing these things, I know, and I’m going to keep on not liking it. But I’m not going to live without you. Understand?”

“Understood. Can I kiss you now?”

“No. Not until you have shaved. And you are going to marry me quick before anything else happens. Which I’m sure will be very soon if I know you. Now, what’s in the pillowcase? The Sergeant’s old laundry?”

“Sort of. Let me put it in the bottom of the suitcase, then I’ll tell you.”

“Don’t worry, all your jewelry is still here, still safe,” Angus Macrahanish said, stirring his finger about in the bottom of the bag where rings, necklaces and strings of pearls lay casually between the two bottles of whisky. Why not a quick one for his health’s sake? He was sore all over from spending a night on the sand listening to Martha’s snores. He uncapped the half-full bottle and took a healthy drink. Lovely! He lowered the bottle and sighed happily — and his glance fell on the man lying nearby him on the sand.

That was another thing that had kept him awake. That big blowsy woman had been snorting like a steam engine most of the night, not to mention an occasional howl like a cat in the back garden. She might very well comb her hair and sing happily to herself — she had had a good night. Amazing, he was such a small, skinny chap. And looking the worse for wear, as well he might. Angus leaned over and extended the bottle.

“Here. Would you like a wee dram?”

“Yes. Indeed. You are ferry kind.”

Hendrik extended a quavering hand and seized the bottle’s neck. It burned, but it was very good. Life-restoring. He was beginning to reconsider Sheila’s book and her visit to Holland. For the first time in his life he realized that it was really possible to have too much of a good thing. Sheila leaned over and patted his arm warmly. He tried not to twitch when she did it. Too much, really too much.

It was like the Fourth of July, or VE day or a Cup Final with the crowds cheering and jumping around, the flares from the Very pistols going off over their heads, and the roar of sound as the giant 747 tore along parallel with the beach. The words AIR WESTERN very large on its side. A very fine sight indeed.

Hank pointed to the Stars and Stripes painted on the plane’s tail, and pulled Frances close and kissed her despite the damage his whiskery embrace did to her skin.

“Look, darling,” he said. “It’s going to be all right now.”

“The cavalry is coming!”